Saints And Sinners
by ceilidh65
Summary: Following on from Heroes And Demons - a routine murder case strikes a painfully personal chord for Tim. As always, I hope you enjoy - please R&R if you do!
1. Chapter 1 In Death I'll Still Find You

Saints And Sinners by ceilidh

A/N: Hello, everyone, and welcome to my long promised sequel to Heroes And Demons. If you haven't done so already, you might like to read that story first, since it really sets the scene for this one.

I've set this story at the start of season four. As Gibbs and the team try to adjust to his return, they take on a case which strikes a _very_ personal chord for Tim. Yes, for all of you who have waited so patiently - Jay Clark is back!!

As always, I hope you enjoy. Now, let the angst begin...

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Saints And Sinners

Chapter One – In Death I'll Still Find You

Staring down at his hands, he blinked. He'd never imagined that killing someone would be so easy. Even as he stared at the bat in his hands, then down at an equally bloodied body, it astonished him.

He'd expected to feel _something_, even if he couldn't define, or identify, what that something was. Fear? Satisfaction? Pleasure? The need to find something else, or someone else, to kill?

Still studying his hands, mesmerized by the slight tremors within them, he then smiled. Killing made him feel good. It made him feel powerful. Invincible. And – hungry.

To eat, of course, you needed money, and – well, who cared where that money came from? Besides, his needs were far greater than those of the figure who lay, broken and bloodied, at his feet. And such worries over where his next meal was coming from didn't matter to this PO Dale Whelan now.

Unlike the figure who now riffled through his pockets, he'd never need to find another meal again. The full force impact of rock hard wood against the side of his head had seen to that.

In cruellest irony, he'd be treating his killer to lunch, dinner, and – yeah, tomorrow's breakfast too.

The only resistance he could offer was the silent accusation in already blank, lifeless eyes. And when it couldn't find his killer's conscience, it set to work on his memory instead.

When he was a kid, during some junior high school camp, he'd seen the same blood. The same helpless terror. Out of a brutally bloodied face, eyes every bit as wide and desperate as these had pleaded for mercy.

Some geeky kid had dared to defy him, and – yeah, he'd made that pathetic little runt regret it. Now this puffed up poster boy had made the same mistake – and paid an equally painful, permanent price.

Now, as he'd done then, Jay Clark didn't give the consequences of his actions a second thought. His brutality had meant nothing to him then. That same brutality meant nothing to him now. And while he'd felt puzzled by the images which now flitted through the deepest corners of his mind – no, the terrified eyes of that geeky, gawky kid still meant nothing to what remained of his conscience.

Through the brutal neglect of his childhood, that conscience had been beaten out of existence – leaving behind the equally brutal adult who now stared down at his latest victim with emotionless eyes.

Damn idiot. Yeah, he'd deserved it, he deserved to die. This was _his_ fault, and… why the hell had he fought back? If he'd just spared a few dollars, from a salary that wouldn't even miss it, there'd have been no trouble.

Only when he'd refused, shoving him off so roughly, had the red mist of his killer's temper descended. He'd needed money to find his latest fix, to make his hellish life at least briefly more bearable. One way or another, with or without his trusty baseball bat, he'd been determined to get it.

He'd just never expected so much blood to come from a single punch, a wildly random swing – just as he'd never expected the rush of dizzying excitement that this, his first kill, would give him.

Better than booze. Better than coke. Better than the purest H on the streets. Better than all of them.

The rush he'd felt when that bat had connected, when he'd heard that pretty boy's face crack apart – hell, nothing could beat the surge of power, the invincibility, that had coursed through him. And like all the other addictions which had consumed his body, the thrill of the kill was overwhelming.

He'd taken on the US Navy and won, and – hell, if he could beat the US Navy, he could beat _anyone_. He was invincible. He was a god, who could control everything, and everyone, that he wanted.

Well, _almost_ anything. To his rising frustration, he couldn't control his own mind, his own memory. Or maybe it was its desperate need for a fix that was making his mind play these freaking tricks – because Dale Whelan's eyes were suddenly alive again, transformed into piercingly accusive green.

Staring straight up into those of his killer, those eyes sent out a silent, nightmarish promise.

'_I_'_m_ _coming_. _You_'_re_ _mine._'

More freaked out now than the most hellish trip he'd been on, Jay Clark retreated, turned, and ran – those damning eyes drilling mercilessly into the back of his head, into the now terrified mind beyond.

'_You can run_, _Jay_, _but you can_'_t_ _hide-_'


	2. Chapter 2 The Calm Before The Storm

Saints And Sinners by ceilidh

A/N: Thanks so much to everyone who have left reviews - I'm glad you're enjoying it so far!

One thing that's struck me so much during the series is how much Tim has changed, from the tongue tied rookie that you see in seasons one and two to the confident agent you see from season three onwards.

We also see the new, slimline McGee during the time that this story takes place, a time which also includes Gibbs' 'retirement'. So I thought this would be a good time for Gibbs to notice how much he's changed. After all, McGee's weight loss is pretty dramatic!

So here are Gibbs' thoughts as he tries to adjust to his return, and life back as 'the boss'. As always, I hope you enjoy!

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Saints And Sinners

Chapter Two – The Calm Before The Storm

Covertly studying them, watching them enjoy a rare moment of relaxation, Gibbs sighed. Tony. Ziva. McGee. Abby. He'd never imagined that holding back on them would affect him so deeply.

This was _his_ team. _His_ kids. The closest thing to family that he could now ever hope to have. So for him to have kept his real family secreted from them, as if he were somehow ashamed of them –no, however painful it would have been for him to do it, Gibbs now realized he'd been wrong.

In their line of work, you had to trust the people who, each and every day, had _your_ life in _their_ hands. While maybe not irrevocably, Gibbs still knew he'd broken that precious bond between them.

However justified his reasons for avoiding it – no, he couldn't deny it, he _should_ have told them. If just for his own peace of mind, to honour their memory, he should have told them about Shannon and Kelly, long before his memory traumatically told them for him.

They'd forgiven him for it, of course, if only in fear of what he'd do to them if they didn't. But as Gibbs continued to quietly study them, he couldn't help but envy their bantering laughter.

Behind the barrier of his computer screens, he was all too aware of what its isolation represented. You couldn't spend four months away from your team, your kids, and not expect them to change. As the ex-Marine and father in him so poignantly knew, he'd be an idiot to tell himself otherwise

Yes, he was now _officially_ their boss again, but it would take time for them to re-adjust. Knowing that this was the best team he'd ever worked with, he would gladly give them that time.

On the plus side, there'd been several more positive changes while he'd been in 'retirement' – most strikingly in the figure who, as usual, was bearing the brunt of that playful teasing.

He'd been named after a saint – those inspiring paragons of sweet natured, virtuous patience. And right now, _this_ sorely tried Saint Timothy needed all the saintly patience he could find.

He may have lost an astonishing amount of weight, but in terms of that legendary level headedness – yes, Gibbs gratefully observed, Tim McGee's unflappable calm was still there, as reliable and rock-solid as ever.

Maybe it was the time he'd spent away from it, but Gibbs now realized how crucial that calm was – just as he realized that so much of McGee's character had changed around that anchoring core.

In ways far more significant that his new, sleekly trim waistline – oh yes, the boy had changed. The klutzy kid who'd once been so painfully naïve had become the glue that kept his team together. In the midst of sibling rivalry and squabbling tempers, his was the vital voice of steadying reason. Where everyone around him lost _their_ heads, Tim McGee's stayed calmly square on his shoulders.

Speaking of heads – oh, good grief!

'_Damn it_, _DiNozzo_… _are you __ever__ gonna grow up_?'

Apparently not, Gibbs ruefully answered himself, yet finding it impossible not to smile – enjoying that smile, the silent lift it gave him, as he watched his senior agent playfully up the ante.

Normal people used their own hands, or a desk, to support the magazine they were reading. With the irreverence that was his and his alone, Tony DiNozzo preferred to use his probie's head.

Then again, Gibbs dryly reflected, you'd never say 'normal' and 'DiNozzo' in the same sentence. And with the pressure of leadership now lifted from him, he could get back to what he did best – seeing how many of his put-upon probie's buttons he could push before that probie finally snapped.

Judging by the way that Tim now rolled up one of his files and shrewdly eyed his closest target – yes, however much he was enjoying the show, Gibbs could see where that show was heading. If he didn't step in now, the future of the DiNozzo family bloodline would be under serious threat

And how ironic it was, that a fellow Marine's death should now do them both a timely favour – their reaction to its sound causing him to smile now, as Gibbs reached to answer his phone.

Four heads rose in perfect unison, to reveal the same quizzical alertness on four youthful faces.

If he'd had a stick handy, he'd have been damn tempted to toss it past them and yell '_Fetch_!'

Within seconds, though, the smile had been replaced by a deepening frown of familiar fury – the measured quietness of his voice warning everyone in the bullpen what was coming next.

"Got a body. Grab your gear-"

Leading the familiar rush to the elevator, Gibbs slapped its doors open with a silently outraged hand. Another dead sailor. Another dreaded phone call to a shattered family. Another killer, on _his_ turf.

His only comfort, one that he privately cherished, was that his team were already there beside him – all sibling rivalry forgotten in the shared duty to find Dale Whelan's killer, and bring the bastard in.

Glancing around at three serious, determined faces, Gibbs allowed himself a trace of a smile. His team was ready, quietly raring to go. Wherever Dale Whelan's killer was, he was living on borrowed time.


	3. Chapter 3 Death And Duty

Saints And Sinners by ceilidh

A/N: I must admit, I have no idea where this chapter came from! It was just one of those niggling thoughts that suddenly turn into a full part of the story. I think because Tim has so much integrity, and respects the dead a little bit more reverently than the others do at times, that he'd honour them as he does in this chapter.

As always, I hope you enjoy - and thanks for the continuing support!

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Saints And Sinners

Chapter Three – Death And Duty

He'd been a field agent for almost two years now, but – damn it, he'd never get used to this. Brutal, senseless violence against a helpless, innocent victim. The nauseating stench of their death. And while the sight of blood and brains didn't turn his stomach _quite_ so much as it used to – no, as he sadly studied the broken body in front of him, Tim McGee still couldn't help but wince.

Damn it, this guy wasn't much older than he was. Dale Whelan had been in the prime of his life. Starting out, just like him, in a career he'd clearly loved, he'd had so much to live for, so much to look forward to.

Now, instead of enjoying his weekend shore leave, he'd be spending it in Ducky's mortuary.

He'd have no more birthdays. No more Christmases. No more joyous reunions with his family. His life was over. Now he was relying on a complete but compassionate stranger to find his killer.

First things first, though. Before he set to work, there had to be this moment of silent respect.

It was something that his parents had gently instilled in him during his grandfather's funeral. He'd only just turned ten at the time, but even at that age, he'd still understood what they'd meant – that whether as family, friend, or total stranger, he should _always_ respect and honour the dead.

Extravagance wasn't in Tim McGee's nature, of course, and he wasn't overly religious either – the briefest pause beside the body, the subtlest dip of his head, all that he needed.

He'd honoured his upbringing. He'd honoured Dale Whelan's memory. Now he could get to work. And while computers and gadgetry would always be his first love, forensics ran a pretty close second. For all its many horrors, it was a fascinating field – especially for such an inquisitive mind as his.

That mind had always loved to probe, and – oh, there was a thought that might just keep him sane. The next time DiNozzo used that damn nickname, he'd use this new, more flattering analogy instead.

'Probing mind' had a much better ring to it, and suited him much more now, than 'probationary agent'

Smiling slightly, Tim then grew more serious as he opened his field-kit and settled to the task at hand. He loved a good mystery. He loved anything that challenged him, that pushed him to better himself. Photographing a crime scene, and bagging and tagging its evidence, ticked every one of those boxes.

Slightly to his left, next to the truck, he could hear Tony and Ziva start their latest round of bickering. Tony, as always, had started it. Ziva, rising helplessly to the bait, had been determined to finish it.

There was only one person, of course, who could _really_ put an end to it, and – yeah, right on cue.

*whack*

Rolling his eyes, Tim then smiled and shook his head – turning that head wisely away from trouble. He'd gladly leave Gibbs to handle the Terrible Twins. Right now, he had his own work out to do.

Pulling on his gloves, Tim cast a practised glance over the ground surrounding Dale Whelan's body. Every crime scene was different, of course. That was what made them so fascinating to work in. Every angle, every mark, every tiniest piece of potential evidence, had to be meticulously recorded.

It took concentration, patience, an unwavering eye for detail – and the ability to trust your instincts.

So while a discarded gum wrapper meant nothing to the untrained eye, Tim McGee knew otherwise – the scientist in him instantly kicking in, with all the possibilities this piece of paper might have. If he was lucky, there'd be prints on there, or saliva to test for DNA. Hopefully, there'd be both.

So yes, Tim knew how crucial this scrap of silvery foil might be in finding Dale Whelan's killer – its position thoroughly photographed, and bagged just as carefully, before Tim placed it in his case.

With the same steady precision, Tim worked on through the rest of his mentally marked out grid – so focussed on his task that round two of the Tony and Ziva Show went completely unnoticed.

Once sure that he'd fully cleared one of those imaginary squares, he moved on to the next one. In square three, he found an empty box of cigarettes and a deluxe cup of almost finished coffee. Again, they could just be everyday trash, dumped by people who were too lazy to find a bin, but – well, as he'd learned from painful experience, it was better to be safe now than bitterly sorry later.

Finally, the methodical process which years of training and experience had taught him was complete.

Casting a final glance around him, Tim then smiled slightly before stowing the rest of his gear. He'd bagged and tagged every piece of potential evidence he could find. His work here was done.

Now it was up to Abby to take this haystack of hotchpotch clues, and find the crucial needle inside.


	4. Chapter 4 Hunter, Hunted

Saints And Sinners by ceilidh

A/N: Aww, thanks so much for the latest reviews! I'm so glad you're enjoying the story.

Now, if you remember in Heroes And Demons, Tim had to confront some pretty traumatic memories of what Jay Clark did to him. So for all of you who are wondering how he's going to react the second time around, read on!

As always, I hope you enjoy :o)

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Saints And Sinners

Chapter Four – Hunter, Hunted

Against blasts of ear-splitting music, Tim McGee smiled as he watched Abby at dizzying work. It was something he quietly loved, this switch from lifeless stillness to hyperspeed energy, and – yeah, judging by the speed of those typing fingers, she'd clearly overdone the Caf-Pows. _Again_.

Maybe that was why Gibbs had a deluxe full strength in his hand. He needed it to keep up with her.

Some ear plugs would come in kinda too, and… aaaaah, great minds really _did_ think alike. One blessed finger later, that ear-splitting music was out, and blissful silence was in. Hallelujah. His hearing was saved.

Not everyone was happy, though. As peaceful quiet settled in her lab, Abby was clearly unimpressed. But with a dead body downstairs, and a brutal killer on his turf, Gibbs was in no mood for arguments – four quiet words warning her that he wanted straight facts, simple answers, and _no_ fun and games.

"What've you got, Abs?"

Even without Tim's warning head-shake, Abby knew better than to ignore _that_ tone in Gibbs' voice. Besides, he'd brought her the ultimate incentive – held, with practised skill, just out of her reach. The sooner she gave him what he wanted, the sooner she'd get her hands on that massive Caf-Pow.

All sulkiness forgotten, she then scooted her stool across to the main workbench behind them – rattling out a reply that was so fast, and so infectious, that even Gibbs, eventually, cracked a smile.

"More stuff, Gibbs, than you could shake your Sig at. See this gum wrapper that McGee found? We've hit motherlode. Got a partial print, that's running through AFIS right now… no hits so far. I also found saliva traces that _don_'_t_ match our victim's DNA… like I say, Gibbs… _mother_-lode.

At first, I thought it was just trash, or something dropped by a good Samaritan who tried to help. But then I ran it through for drug traces, and… oh no, Gibbs, our gumchewer was _no_ Mr Nice Guy. Whoever was chewing that gum had enough drugs in his system to run his own pharmacy.

With an addiction like that, he's gotta be known, so I'm running his DNA through Metro's bases. And this blood spatter on the wrapper? It fits our vic's injury pattern like my hand in this glove. Given its location to the body, I'd bet McGee's apartment our killer dropped it during the struggle…"

"…and didn't notice-" Gibbs cut in quietly, nodding approval as he leant in to kiss her cheek – adding a slight smile as Abby grinned back at him around a strawful of happily slurped reward. "Good work, Abs-"

Recalling who'd made that breakthrough possible, he then turned to offer Tim McGee a proud wink.

"You too, McGee. Good to see DiNozzo didn't corrupt you _too_ badly while I was gone-"

Was there _any_ chance that Tim McGee wouldn't grin? Or that Tony DiNozzo wouldn't react?

Like hell there wasn't.

"He-…!"

Halfway through an indignant protest, Tony saw a silvery eyebrow rise, and wisely changed his mind. A brotherly cheek-pinch wasn't the best idea either, as Tim's hand shot instinctively sideways into his ribs. If not for a blessedly timed 'ding' from AFIS, they'd have been in real danger of either severe concussions or a fatherly hose-down.

Settling instead for two 'I'll get you' glares, both jostled each other closer to see this first, vital breakthrough. If, as Abby had suggested, their suspect was already locally known, they'd probably recognize him.

That would certainly make finding him a lot easier, and – oh, crap. Oh yeah, they recognized him alright. Even if only two of them recognized the face on Abby's screen, all four of them recognized the name that flashed up beneath it.

All four stared at that screen in silence – two in fury, one in helpless horror, and the last in wide-eyed, ashen-faced shock.

For several moments, no-one moved. They simply stood and stared at that screen, as if hypnotised by its image. Finally, as Abby turned to stare anxiously to her left, Gibbs strode past her to Tim McGee's side – proudly noting that Tony DiNozzo's hand was already wrapping itself protectively around Tim's other shoulder.

As they'd expected, those shoulders were trembling a little, with the inevitable shock of recognition. But to their surprise, Tim's eyes were totally calm as he glanced, in turn, around three anxious faces. So was the voice which, though quiet, still told Gibbs, and Tony, and Abby, what they needed to hear.

"I'm – I'm okay, boss-"

Smiling thanks for the two proud backslaps that followed, and Abby's rib-cracking, 'just-to-make-sure' hug, Tim then paused – glancing back into the face of the thuggish bully who'd once caused him so much terror and pain.

He'd been too young and little then, of course, to fight back against Jay Clark's brutal cruelty. But things were different now. He was taller, for a start. _Much_ taller. Stronger. Fitter. Braver.

And Jay Clark wasn't just a junior high bully now, he'd murdered someone. He was almost certainly Dale Whelan's killer.

Twenty years ago, those who might have stopped him had turned a blind eye. Well, not any more. For his sake, and for those of a distraught family, Tim McGee silently vowed that he'd stop him _now_.

Taking a final glance at the face that had haunted him for so many years, Tim then squared his shoulders – four quiet words taking him away from that nightmarish world, into one where _he_ got to kick some serious ass.

"Let's go get him-"

Following him out of Abby's lab, Gibbs wasn't quite sure when his junior agent had suddenly taken charge of Major Response. Even without that fierce determination on Tim McGee's face, though, Gibbs knew that neither he, nor DiNozzo, were going to argue. Instead they traded grins of proud relief - both knowing that, if just until this highly personal case was closed, Saint Timothy would be hanging up his halo.


	5. Chapter 5 Closing The Net

Saints And Sinners by ceilidh

A/N: Awww, more reviews! Thanks so much! I hope you enjoy this latest chapter too, as - well, the title kinda gives that away, right?!? ;o)

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Saints And Sinners

Chapter Five – Closing The Net

There were times when Gibbs could swear blind that Tim McGee had four hands instead of two. How else could he explain that hyperspeed typing? Not just hyperspeed either, but accurate too. And hitting that keyboard at such relentless speed – hell, it was a miracle he had any fingers left.

So it was in quiet relief, and even greater pride, that Gibbs watched those full sized fingers fly. Spurred on by professional duty, and just a bit of personal payback, Tim McGee was on a mission.

He'd keep a close eye on the boy, of course, just to make sure that mission didn't get _too_ personal, or too much for him to handle. But as he remembered the night when he'd learned about its cause, what McGee had been through – yes, as those speed-dizzy fingers continued to fly, Gibbs knew what a true blessing this sight was.

Tim McGee could so easily have walked out that night, in justified fury at how unjustly he'd been treated. Instead he'd stayed, taking on the role of senior agent while Tony took his first taste of leadership. From what Jen had told him shortly after his return, over catch-up coffee in her office, he'd done one hell of a job.

So yes, Gibbs now allowed himself a satisfied smile. How far he'd come. Yeah, how far he'd come.

Totally focussed on his search-screens, Tim was oblivious to this proudly reflective scrutiny. And if he was at all aware of two more pairs of protective eyes watching him, he wasn't showing it. Besides, he already knew that Tony and Ziva were there, supporting him in the best way they could.

They'd be calling up their own contacts, making their own checks, following up their own leads – leaving him to work in peace so that he could take this personal mission to its next, crucial stage. The sooner they found out where Jay Clark was, the sooner they could bring the sick bastard in.

As Tim had expected, he'd never stayed in one place for long. He'd done that deliberately, of course. Moving constantly from town to town, then state to state, would have made him damn hard to find. And the police in those towns and states would only search for so long before their resources ran out.

Now he was in DC. Fate, destiny, or just simple coincidence had brought him to Tim McGee's town. And wherever Jay Clark was in _his _jurisdiction, _this_ law enforcement agent was going to find him.

With more resources on his desk than most police forces had in their entire state, Tim knew he'd do it, even though he'd struck out on the most obvious ones. Banks. Credit cards. Health care. That hadn't surprised him. All were too easily traceable.

However smart he'd been, though, at covering his tracks, Jay Clark still needed somewhere to live. Thanks to a threeway effort of called-in favours and patient bargaining, they finally found him – although it was Ziva who announced it, so sharply that everyone in the bullpen, even Gibbs, jumped.

"Got him! Carter's Hostel, Garfield Heights-"

Half way to Tim's desk, the triumphant smile then faded slightly as Ziva double-checked her notes.

"Although he is _not_ using Jay Clark. He is Guido Bal-_boa_?"

To her relief, Tim smiled and nodded, recalling the memory with remarkable, and reassuring, calm.

"Yeah, that's him, Ziva, it's an alias. He, uh, had this fixation with Rocky, and… well, made us call him that at school. If you did, you'd be fine. He'd leave you alone, pretty much, but if you didn't… well, not so good-"

Already putting two and two together for themselves, Gibbs, Tony and Ziva just nodded in return – three gently quizzical glances met with another smile, a reassuring nod, as Tim reached into his drawer. Even without the badge and gun that he now clipped to his belt, they all knew what that smile meant. Whatever he had to do to bring his childhood nemesis into custody, Tim McGee was ready to face it.

Even so, Gibbs still kept a subtle eye on his young agent throughout the drive to DC's southeast side – so proud that Ziva beside him, and Tony, riding brotherly shotgun in the back, were doing the same. And when they arrived, both stayed supportively close while they changed into their assault gear.

That alone had made Gibbs smile. Tim McGee had proven, time and again, that he could take care of himself. But Carter's Hostel was a law enforcement red-zone, and you _never_ entered it lightly.

A rabbit warren of derelict rooms and unlit stairwells, it was the ideal haven for DC's seedier residents. If you needed a fix, and somewhere safe to hide, this run down hostel was the perfect place for both.

With so many possibilities for an ambush or attack, you needed to have complete faith in your team. Your safety and survival rested in their hands, just as _their_ lives relied totally on you in return. You needed the very best people to cover your six, and – hell yes, Gibbs knew his team _was_ the best.

As he watched them gear up, check their guns and connect their radios, he smiled in silent pride. If you _had_ to enter a run down dump like this, where some crackhead could blow your head off – yes, you'd want this team of quirky, kick-ass kids to find that crackhead first, and take _him_ out instead.

Leaving DiNozzo and McGee to cover the alley alongside, Gibbs directed Ziva to help him cover the main doorway - feeling the familiar rush of precious adrenalin start to kick in as he levered the door open and led the way inside.

Three federal agents and a Mossad assassin were going to bring in the likeliest suspect they had for a brutal murder.

His team was primed, and in position.

The plan was in place.

The search was over.

The hunt was on.


	6. Chapter 6 The Nightmare Comes True

Saints And Sinners by ceilidh

A/N: It's taken me longer than planned to get around to it, but as you'll have guessed, I've loved writing this story. I'm so pleased you're enjoying it too. Thanks again for all your comments and encouragement!

Now, my regular readers and reviewers know that I like to throw in the odd cliffie here and there. Well, for all of you who have been patiently waiting for it - here it comes!

Just to give the evilness a twist, though, the cliffie is in the chapter title. Someone's day is about to come to a painfully messy end, and - well, to find out who it is, you'll just have to read on!

No spoilers, but just a quick reference to one of my favourite scenes from Untouchable. As always, I hope you enjoy!

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Saints And Sinners

Chapter Six – The Nightmare Comes True

When he'd been little, and to his mother's amused exasperation, Tim McGee had _hated_ carrots. As he'd constantly told her, too young to understand her helpless laughter, he was a _boy_, not a bunny.

Undeterred, she'd pointed out, just as insistently, that bunnies who ate lots of carrots had _very_ good eyesight.

Against the scornful pout that only a six year old could generate, she'd then played her trump card. When they'd gone on vacation, how many bunnies had he seen on the journey wearing glasses?

For a six year old who'd just been diagnosed with borderline short-sightedness, this was a _really_ serious matter. He was already going through school-yard hell from the brace on his teeth, so the prospect of wearing _glasses_ too? Forget it!

No, from then on, Tim had been converted, completely, to one of the oldest wives tales in the book. For every meal that he could possibly have with them, it was heaps of carrots, all the way.

To his mother's delight, and as she still _loved_ to remind him, he'd even tried to make carrot ice cream. If, and when, he ever got married – oh yeah, he'd be treating mom to something she _really_ liked. When it came to embarrassing secrets, even the most dutiful son wasn't above face-saving blackmail.

More immediately, of course, there was the equally tricky task of bringing Jay Clark into custody. And while he now saw it for the myth that moms the world over used, to make their kids eat them – well, that childhood short-sightedness had magically corrected itself.

And yes, he still loved carrots.

Instead of needing glasses, contacts, or corrective surgery, Tim McGee now had near perfect vision – a gift which had saved his life, and the lives of those he cared about, more times than he could count. As he scanned the alley which ran along the hostel, that hawk-like eyesight served him pricelessly now.

It could have been a cat, of course, which had made those trash cans rattle, but – no, Tim knew better. If there was any cat within twenty feet of him, he'd have been sneezing his head off by now. More to the point, Tony had now heard it too, and was already beside him, nodding acknowledgment – complementing Tim's left-angled aim by covering his right as both crept cautiously forward.

As those trash-cans rattled again, louder than before, those aims centred squarely on their target – both of them staring, _and_ jumping, as an equally startled street-dog shot out from behind them and ran straight over Tim's foot.

Following it for a moment, Tim and Tony then traded glances in a mutual, dignity-preserving promise. What Gibbs and Ziva didn't know about this little snafu couldn't hurt them, right? Right.

Bullets could, though – gunfire, and the tension in Gibbs' voice, confirming what they already knew.

"DiNozzo! McGee! Heads up, he's coming your way!"

Taking that 'heads up' order to its literal limit, Tim peered instinctively along a nearby fire-escape – just in time to see a gangly-limbed figure drop off the final rung and hit the ground running.

They were in a dead-end alleyway, which was a good thing. But there were downsides to it too. It meant their quarry had already sprinted into the main street, into the cover of innocent bystanders. With so many people around, and if he was armed himself, such a public shootout was too risky.

That meant a footchase instead, which was bad enough – but Jay Clark already had a fifty metre start on them.

Damn.

And they knew it was a waste of time, and breath, but they were legally bound to yell it anyway.

"Federal agents! Freeze!"

Yeah, right. The day any perp actually _did_ that would be when ET landed on the White House lawn. Yelling it again would only waste even more breath, so both of them saved it instead for running – that lost weight, and his royalty money spent on that personal trainer, paying real dividends now, as Tim steadily closed the gap.

Or maybe it was their past history, remembering what this bastard had done to him, that did it – but Tim's legs now found a surge of speed that could qualify him for the Olympic hundred metres. And when he saw his quarry skid around an upcoming corner, Tim even felt himself grin.

Local knowledge told him it was a dead-end alley. He probably didn't know it yet, but Jay Clark had nowhere left to run.

_'Got you, you bastard_-'

Another spurt of speed brought Tim McGee into contention for Olympic silver. One more brought him within finger-tip distance of his quarry's collar, and onto the podium for the gold.

The linebacker's tackle which finally brought Jay Clark down wasn't too shabby either – his quarry's body providing Tim with the much softer landing as they both crashed to the ground.

With one eighty pounds of body-built McGee on top of him, it was no surprise that he couldn't move. Hell, right now he could barely breathe. And just to make this moment of victory over his childhood nemesis even sweeter – oh, _yes_.

The face that now twisted in his grip to stare up at him was taut, terrifed - and covered in dog crap.

From so many loopholes, justice against the guilty could be unfairly soft sometimes, but in that case – yes, for just this one time, that justice was soft for all the right reasons. Soft. Squishy. And fresh.

Its smell was revolting, and brought back all those horrific memories, but Tim McGee stayed firm. With Tony standing guard, he cuffed his quarry's hands behind his back then hauled him upright – his expression alone, and then just his eyes, achieving more control over Jay Clark than any physical restraint.

In a mind that was now totally strung out, frozen in terror, the nightmare within it was coming true – the revived eyes of the man he'd murdered as piercing in real life as they'd been in his imagination.

And any hopes that he'd had for bluffing his way out were now shattered by a quiet, deadly soft voice.

"Hello, Jay. Long time, no see-"


	7. Chapter 7 Know Thine Enemy

Saints And Sinners by ceilidh

A/N: Awww, thanks so much for the latest reviews! As you can imagine, I _loved_ writing that chapter. Mind you, I had a great time writing this one as well!

A lot of my reviewers for Heroes And Demons asked me to make sure that Tim took charge of Jay Clark's interrogation. To be honest, that was always a given. I'd already decided while still writing H&D that, in any sequel, no-one else could take that interview except him.

Now, I'm sure you all remember that scene in Deception, where Tim tells Geckler that bullies never remember the names of the people they terrorize, but their victims always remember theirs. So with that in mind – step forward, Timothy, for the moment that you, the team, and everyone who's reading this story have been waiting for!

Oh, and since I'm sure Gibbs would have told her about the events in Heroes And Demons, I've included Jenny in this chapter too, with just a quick reference to that wonderful Deception scene. As always, I hope you enjoy!

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Saints And Sinners

Chapter Seven – Know Thine Enemy

As he entered the observation suite, Tony DiNozzo stopped and stared for a moment. Then he smiled. He'd assumed that he'd arrived in plenty of time for the show of the year, but… well, apparently not. And, he dryly noted, the best seats in an unusually packed house were already taken.

Abby, of course, was in pole position – fidgeting nervously on her chair, her face and hands pressed to the glass.

Flanking her stood Gibbs and Jenny, while Ziva took her usual, grim faced stance in the far corner. Glowering in pure hatred through the glass, she was mentally Mossad-ing Jay Clark into his grave. That explained why Ducky was there too – on hand, no doubt, to make an early start on his autopsy.

Still smiling at this thought, knowing it wasn't _that_ far from the truth, Tony eased his way into this silent, anxiously expectant crowd – wishing, in rueful afterthought, that he'd brought some drinks and nibbles to tide them all over.

Needless to say, Abby already had her Caf-Pow to hand, although she was too nervous to drink it. Tony could understand why. Glancing along a line of faces, he realized they _all_ understood. This was her Timmy after all – about to take one of the hardest interrogations that he'd ever face.

Most of the people in that room knew he could handle it, of course. One, though, wasn't so sure. And when Jenny Shepard spoke, she voiced the concerns which all of them were silently feeling.

"So you're not sitting in with him, Jethro? I mean, this is going to be so difficult for him-"

"Nope. He doesn't need me, or anyone else, in there, Jen. He'll be okay-" Gibbs cut in softly – meeting her silently sceptical response with a quirked brow of his own as he sipped his coffee. "You think because of what he did to him, McGee's gonna go in there and whack his brains out?"

He'd be fully justified, of course. All things considered, Gibbs wouldn't blame him if he did. Hell, given the chance, he'd do it for him, with Tony in faithful, equally furious back-up. And trust his Mossad liaison to bypass all pussyfooting protocol, and just speak her seething mind.

"If he doesn't, Gibbs, can I?"

Answering her with an _almost_ straight-faced glare, Gibbs then let a helpless smile take over – the pride within it warming his next words as he watched Tim McGee take his very personal stage.

"He won't, Jen. He's too professional for that. Whatever Clark says or does, Tim'll handle it-"

Knowing better than to argue, knowing it was pointless to even try, Jenny smiled back at him – nodding agreement, then in approval, as Tim McGee's voice filtered through the intercom. That voice was calm, its words holding the same measured control as Tim settled into his seat.

"Jay Clark, I am Special Agent Timothy McGee-"

Smiling slightly as the pock-marked face in front of him fought for recognition, Tim then paused – letting his childhood tormentor stew, letting him struggle to remember him, as he opened his file and flicked casually through it.

"I am here to question you about the murder of Petty Officer Dale Whelan-"

_Another_ pause. _Another_ stretch of silence while Tim leaned back in his chair and studied his notes. More nervous fidgeting. And through the glass behind him, seven friends grinned in satisfaction.

If this was Tim McGee's strategy, to make his suspect sweat in suspense, it was working like a charm. Less than a minute in, and Jay Clark was already squirming on an impeccably baited hook.

As that silence continued, Jenny glanced up at Gibbs – her earlier scepticism replaced by surprise.

"He didn't react at all to Tim announcing his name. He – He doesn't remember him, does he?"

"No, he doesn't, Jen. He won't-" Gibbs told her, smiling through an especially proud memory. Knowing this was the perfect time to share it, he then nodded towards the VCR bank behind them.

"Once we're done here, get Jason Geckler's interview out of the archive. Then you'll understand-"

Clearly wishing that she understood _now_, but knowing this wasn't the time to pursue it, Jenny nodded. Instead, making a mental note of the name he'd given her, she turned back to this current interview – noting, in quiet pride, that Tim McGee was still keeping that interrogation under his complete control.

In this carefully planned, beautifully controlled silence, Jay Clark was getting more and more agitated. He was clearly trying to remember where he'd seen his interrogator before, but he couldn't do it.

There was something so familiar about his eyes. Those piercing, silently damning eyes. He knew he'd seen them before. And since he'd come out with that 'long time no see' line, he clearly knew him, somehow, but – no, as those eyes continued to bore relentlessly into him, the recognition he craved just wouldn't come.

When it finally came, his reaction was everything that Tim McGee, and his audience, could ask for.

"Hey, I – I know you! You're – You're that geeky kid, at - at that camp, that I… that I… I… awww, _crap-_"

As his face then paled in horror, Tim McGee rose from his seat and, deliberately slowly, circled the desk – stopping at Jay Clark's side, using every inch of his height, as he loomed over his cowering prey.

"Oh yeah, Jay. Yeah, I'd say 'crap' just about covers it-"


	8. Chapter 8 Coup de Grace

Saints And Sinners by ceilidh

A/N: Yes, my third chapter of the day - a first for me! With a special mention for Teri, I hope you enjoy!

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Saints And Sinners

Chapter Eight – Coup De Grâce

Tim McGee didn't know it, of course, but in the room behind him, he'd caused a serious problem. Ducky had an autopsy report to finish, while Jenny, Ziva and Tony had their own piles of paperwork. Gibbs had long since finished his coffee, and Abby had long since finished her sustaining Caf-Pow.

So yes, along with a much needed 'pee-break' for Abby, all had their reasons to be elsewhere – but however pressing they were, none of them wanted to miss a minute of Tim McGee's finest hour.

Eventually, though, Gibbs had found typically simple solution – and a reluctantly obedient volunteer. Now, as that volunteer returned with bags of nibbles and a tray of drinks, Gibbs' smile widened.

When all this was over, he'd have to take Tim McGee aside and tell him about this momentous first – that the VCR operator had been so enthralled by what he was seeing that not even _he'd_ wanted to leave.

Gibbs could hardly blame him for that. This was the confrontation that _everyone_ wanted to see.

The story behind it was horrific – something that Tim McGee, not surprisingly, had kept to himself. And while both Gibbs and Tony had respected his wishes, they couldn't stop a far greater power.

The bullpen grapevine was second to none. At times, it made the CIA's intel network look tame. So it was inevitable that, eventually, the childhood trauma which Tim McGee had suffered had leaked out.

Even if they didn't know its full extent, the support staff in MCRT knew enough to be enraged. Tim McGee, one of the most popular agents they worked with, a friend to _all_ of them, had been hurt. Now the school bully who'd left him so traumatized was the prime suspect in Dale Whelan's murder.

So when his attacker had been brought into custody, every agent in the bullpen had stood to see him. Every face had held the same expression of complete, furious contempt. And where he'd normally put a swift end to such intrusive intimidation, this time Gibbs had made an exception.

Just like the Marines, this agency took care of its own – and Tim McGee was a crucial part of it. So if his colleagues wanted to show their support for him, and their glaring disgust for Jay Clark – yeah, this was one of his unspoken rules that, just this once, Jethro Gibbs had chosen to let slide.

Perhaps buoyed by that support, Tim McGee had entered Interrogation with his head held high – reducing the bully who'd caused him such shame and humiliation into a snivelling, gibbering wreck.

Though just his voice, his eyes, and his towering height, he'd already 'persuaded' Jay Clark to confess. For Dale Whelan's murder alone, this miserable runt would spend the rest of his life behind bars.

And, Gibbs now noted with a proudly approving grin, his young protégé wasn't finished yet. If Jay Clark thought he'd serve his time in some cushy country jail, he was in for one hell of a shock.

With a quiet relish that had his audience grinning in approval, Tim McGee was making sure of that.

"Yeah, you'll do hard time for this, Jay. _Real_ hard time-" he said at last, his voice carefully casual – pausing for effect, savouring every moment, while circling his prey like a six foot one inch vulture.

Switching from good cop to bad cop with unsettling ease, he then swooped in beside its chair – leaning in to complete his kill, with a voice that dripped venom with every soft, emphatic word.

"You _do_ know what hard time, don't you, Jay? I mean, _real_ hard time, in a _real_ hard jail? You _don_'_t_? _Really_? Well, I can tell you now, it _won_'_t_ be the cushy stuff that you see on TV.

For starters, there's the cells. _Real_ tiny. Real cosy too, so you'd better hope you like your cellmates. You'd better hope they like you too, 'cos he'll be a rapist, or child abuser, or a murderer. Just like you.

And the food. Compared to what they'll feed to you there, _if_ you're lucky, that dog crap you ate earlier will taste like heaven.

Then there's the security. Those prison guards, Jay, are gonna be _real_ thorough when they search you. They know you could hide drugs _anywhere_, inside _and_ out, so if you've never been strip-searched… well, you'll get used to it real fast from now on, Jay, because they'll be searching you an _awful_ lot-"

As he stopped to pause for breath, Tim knew he could say far more – but he knew he didn't need to. He'd achieved everything, professionally, that he'd set out to do. Personally, he'd achieved even more.

The quaking wreck beside him would spend the rest of his life in jail.

It was done. It was over.

Casting the broken bully beside him a final glare of complete contempt, Tim picked up his file and strode to the door. As it closed abruptly behind him, seven friends and colleagues traded proud yet anxious glances.

Meeting Tony DiNozzo's eyes, Gibbs recognised the silent concern within them, and nodded – holding up his hand to stop the inevitable rush to follow him as Tony quickly left the room.

Through its discreetly open door, he could see Tim McGee leaning against the wall, breathing hard. Even with the distance between them, he could see the boy shaking, struggling to keep it together.

_'Get to him, Tony. Just get to him'_

He couldn't see, or hear, what Tony said to him as he reached him and gently gripped his shoulders. But when Tim finally raised his head, nodded, and managed a shaky smile, Gibbs smiled too – knowing, as Tony slid his arm across Tim's shoulders and led him away, that he'd made his point.

Now he needed to give the boy space, peace, and privacy to calm down and regain his composure. As he watched two brothers-in-arms disappear from view, Gibbs already knew where he'd find it.


	9. Chapter 9 The Road Not Taken

Saints And Sinners by ceilidh

A/N: Oh, thanks so much for the reviews for those last two chapters!

As you can imagine, I really wanted to give Tim his chance to shine in them, and break Jay Clark down without compromising either himself or the investigation. Oddly enough, these were the quickest chapters to write, because the ideas for them have been rumbling around for so long. I'm so pleased you enjoyed them.

Okay, there are two more chapters to come after this, so we're into the home straight. Those of you who read Heroes And Demons will already know where Tim went after the end of that harrowing interview. Gibbs knows where he is too, of course, and - yes, I feel a fatherly pep talk coming on!

There's just quick references here to Sub Rosa, Probie and Deception. As always, I hope you enjoy!

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Saints And Sinners

Chapter Nine – The Road Not Taken

It had all started here, on this secluded riverside bench. It was only fair that it should end on it too. And to Gibbs' relief, it was thankfully warmer, _much_ warmer, than the first time they'd sat here.

The other difference, of course, between then and now was that Tony was there, instead of him. Not that Gibbs minded. This wasn't the time to get snitty, or possessive, or anything as soppy as that – because there were times of trouble in a little brother's life when only his protective big brother would do.

This was one of those times. After facing Jay Clark in that interview, Tim McGee needed to recover. And however close the bond that Gibbs knew he had with his young agent, he also knew the bond between Tim and Tony was even closer.

It had been forged when they'd first met at Norfolk, when a streetwise ex-cop had taken a wide eyed rookie under his brotherly wing. Despite the countless razzing, teasing and pranking that had followed, it had grown steadily stronger, and deeper, ever since.

Its strength had seen Tim McGee through the aftermath of John Benedict's death. After this latest trauma, he needed its strength again now.

Yes, he'd done a superb job, as Gibbs had known he would, but it had been hard on him. Damn hard. The last thing he'd needed after it was a crowd of well meaning friends rushing out to fuss over him.

He'd needed peace. Quiet. A place of healing solitude where he could lay the last of his demons to rest. That was why Gibbs had kept them behind while letting Tony out, alone, to lead him gently to it – the hand that had steered Tim McGee here to his sanctuary still resting, protectively, on his shoulder.

As Gibbs had expected, they were as deep in conversation as they'd been in that hallway – whatever Tim had just said earning him a shrug, an approving nod, and a brotherly ruffle of his hair.

Gibbs' smile widened at that. Despite the elbow that nudged his ribs in response, he'd still sensed the familiar humour beyond it. From that, he knew it was safe to join them now, and tell Tim McGee what he'd need so much to hear.

The unforced grin that greeted him as he sat down was a welcome sight. So was the calmness in Tim McGee's eyes. Most welcome of all, though, was the expression on a face that could reveal so much through so little. Without saying a word, it conveyed the serenity of a once broken soul who'd finally found total peace.

All the tension and anger which had darkened it, so dangerously, just twenty minutes ago, had gone – letting the calm level-headedness which was such a vital strength of his character to take its place. And since that hair-ruffle had brought out that glorious smile, Gibbs felt it only right to do the same – and to add his own praise for what the boy had achieved, in one of the toughest challenges of his life.

"Great job, Tim. You couldn't have handled that better. I'm proud of you-"

To his surprise, and Tony's, that bright smile faded a little as Tim sighed and shrugged his shoulders. For some reason, this expression of highly prized praise hadn't quite hit the mark they'd expected. After a few more moments of awkward silence, a calm but conflicted admission puzzled them even more

"Thanks, boss, that – that means a lot, especially coming from you, but… well, that was hard, boss. That was one of the hardest things I've ever done, and… you know, boss, I – I nearly lost it in there. For a few seconds at the end there, I was so close to hitting him, so close to becoming _like_ him-"

"But you _didn_'_t_, Tim, because you knew that would lower _you_ to _his_ level-" Gibbs told him gently, giving Tim's shoulder enough of a rallying shake to both reassure him and make his next point.

"That interview was all about self control, Tim. Control that, at one time, both you and Jay Clark had. But at some point in his life, he took a wrong turn, and became the bully who made your life hell. My guess is that he fell into the wrong crowd, or that something happened to him that made him turn. _That_ turned him into the bully that traumatized you…. in turn, that made him murder Dale Whelan-"

Pausing for a moment, both for breath and to check that he still had Tim's attention, Gibbs smiled. As he'd hoped, the boy was hanging on for the quiet, heartfelt words that eventually followed.

"But you've kept that ability, Tim. You've kept that self control. _That's_ the difference between you. That's what stopped you from losing it in that interview and becoming, as you said, like him-"

"The road not taken-" Tim cut in softly, reflecting on one of his favourite, personal inspirations. Knowing that poetry wasn't exactly Gibbs' taste, or Tony's, he then smiled and shyly explained himself.

"It's, um, a poem, boss, by Robert Frost. I – I learned it at school, and… well, it's always inspired me-"

If he was expecting them to tease him, or razz him about his writing, then he was in for a surprise – because to his puzzled relief, Gibbs' face now broke into one of the proudest grins he'd ever seen.

He was still trying to figure out why when, gently ruffling his hair, Gibbs then saved him the trouble.

"Me too, Tim. Me too-"

As Tim grinned happily back at him, though, Tony was still struggling to take this revelation in – so much so that his sense of tact and his sense of self-preservation now took their own separate paths.

"So you've got a writing pipe and Banacek jacket too, boss?"

Before that teasing insult was halfway through, Tony DiNozzo knew he'd made a serious mistake.

Gibbs looked at Tim. Tim looked at Gibbs. Two minds met in a moment of complete understanding. Then as two identical grins followed, Tim leant forward, Gibbs leant sideways, reached out, and –

*whack*


	10. Chapter 10 We Are Family

Saints And Sinners by ceilidh

A/N: Well, folks, here we are, at the end of another story. Thanks to all of you who have left reviews and encouraged me - as always, that has been very much appreciated!

As I've written this story, I've realized that it's been as much a personal journey for Gibbs as it's been for Tim. So with some humour along the way, (sorry, Tony, but the way you teased Tim in Deception was _really_ mean!) I'm going to let my three favourite boys enjoy a bit more bonding, while also letting Gibbs to find his place.

As always, I hope you enjoy, and I hope to see you here again soon. All my best :o)

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Saints And Sinners

Chapter Ten – We Are Family

Beside him, Tim McGee was still grinning. Next to his junior agent, his senior agent was still sulking. And with the patient smile that only a father could cultivate, Gibbs was still sipping his coffee.

Then again, Joey's Java was the best in the Yard – especially when someone else bought it for you. And just to complete his penance, DiNozzo had kindly 'agreed' to buy in their lunches, and a boxful of doughnuts too. Needless to say, Tim McGee had gleefully chosen the most expensive box in the diner.

Of course, to make that punishment work, you really had to stick to your disciplinary guns, and – well, as he studied two gloriously jammy-sugared faces, Gibbs was finding that increasingly hard. Two grown men – yeah, he'd reluctantly included DiNozzo – should _not_ need toddler-bibs to eat.

Thank God he'd chosen the ultra deluxe coffee size. It gave him something to hide his grin behind.

Of course, Gibbs also knew there was a more serious reason for this rare, and welcome, boys lunch out. It was giving Tim McGee a chance to talk through one of the hardest, most challenging days of his life.

So when that jam-rimmed smile turned into a pensive frown, Gibbs already knew what was coming – Tony's glance of big-brother concern met with an equally discreet '_just let him talk_' wink. As experience had taught them both, so many times, a McGee in deep thought could _not_ be rushed.

Once he got started, though – yeah, Gibbs then fondly noted, it was like opening up the Hoover Dam. Slowly at first, then with a rush of speed, those thoughts, memories and reflections came tumbling out.

"You know the scariest thing, boss? When we were kids, we had so much in common between us. We lived in the same neighbourhood, both our dads were in the Navy, so we had the same background.

When he wasn't kicking the hell out of people, he was good at sports. I mean, he was _really_ good. There was even talk of him taking a senior high scholarship, his coach was always pushing him for that.

And I know I sucked at sports, but… well, in so many ways, boss, we both had our own talents, and… well, that's something I still can't get my head around, it's something I've never been able to understand. At one point we were so alike, and… well, somehow our lives took us in totally opposite directions-"

"And now, even more because of today, you're wondering why?" Gibbs cut in with a gentle smile – knowing from a familiar, sweetly shy grin that the best double-degree mind in DC needed a little help.

Yes, Tim McGee was one of the best agents he'd ever taught, but he'd also led a pretty sheltered life. Maybe it was a throwback to all that study and learning, all those years of top-flight academia, but – no, every so often, Timothy McGee, MA, BSc and now federal agent, needed a little fatherly guidance.

In the absence of the real thing, Jethro Gibbs would always make an equally respected substitute. And as Gibbs now proudly noted, his other surrogate son took privately grateful advantage of it too – two pairs of bright attentive eyes reminding him that, in all but name… yes, these boys were brothers.

They were also waiting for his latest words of wisdom. Through a helpless smile, they finally came.

"Well, Tim, I'd imagine it comes from an advantage you've always had, but one that Jay Clark lost. You've always had the love and support of your family, and parents who taught you right from wrong. And I'm sure they were strict with you when they had to be, but I'm also sure they _never_ hurt you-"

Seeing that Tim was already nodding, guessing himself where this was heading, Gibbs then paused – nodding too, in proud approval, as Tim quietly completed his point without any further help.

"Yeah, boss, I – I see what you're getting at. My parents supported me without ever hurting me, and… well, studies have shown that a child in an abusive family usually grows up with the same traits-"

Told by another fatherly wise smile that he'd answered his own question, Tim shyly returned it – his next words reflecting not just his understanding of its significance but also his personal gratitude.

"Yeah, I was lucky, boss. My life's been tough at times, but for the most part, it's gone right for me. Now I'm doing what I've always wanted to do, and… yeah, I've been lucky, boss. So very, _very_ lucky-"

Such deep thought wasn't usually Gibbs' thing, of course, but – hell, maybe it was the coffee. either that, or one almighty sugar-rush.

"Luck, life, and everything in between is what _you_ make it, Tim. Never forget that-" he said at last, still smiling – whatever he'd planned to say next interrupted by the familiar, buzzing ring of his cellphone.

Both Tim and Tony knew there was only one kind of call that could reach him anytime, anywhere – his change of expression confirming their suspicions long before Gibbs closed the connection.

In fact, to Gibbs' amusement, they were already stacking up their trays and rising from their seats – the few untouched doughnuts that were left quickly placed, with expert teamwork, into their box.

As they left Joey's Diner and headed back through the Yard, Gibbs felt a rush of silent, personal pride. Yes, there was another murder for them to solve. Another killer had dared to strike, in _their_ town.

By the time they reached the bullpen, Gibbs had allowed that pride out into an open smile. Yes, he missed Mexico sometimes – but right now? No, he didn't miss Mexico at all.

This was his calling. This was where he was needed. This was where he belonged. This was _his_ family - and that family meant he was home.


End file.
